Not Even Once
by PearLynn
Summary: One-shot. Drabble of sorts, kind of undescriptive. The loss of a loved one due to substance abuse. Not even once. Modern AU I guess.


**_Not Even Once_**

_**A/N **I blame Glee for this. And "Better Than Me" by Hinder. And the death of an old friend. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..._

**_WARNING!_**_ Contains mention of drug use._

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Avatar: The Last Airbender._

* * *

It was when she walked through the door that she realized that something was wrong.

The day had begun normally, they both had woken up and gotten ready for their respective jobs, eating their breakfasts and kissing each other goodbye before heading out the door. She would always leave first, because her job was further away than his. Because the sooner she got there, the sooner she could get home and be back with him.

His job was shorter, started later and ended earlier. But he made good money. A big enough paycheck to get them the two-story white house on the corner street of a friendly neighborhood, with the blue shutters and door. The fenced backyard and the covered and screened wrap-around porch. It was always what she wanted. And they finally had it.

Around five o'clock, when she finally pulled into their driveway, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach began to gnaw at her mind. She brushed it off, claiming it to be from nerves. She was going to tell him today. Tell him of the new addition that would be joining them in a few months. She hoped he would be happy, excited. She shook her head. Of course he would be. He loved her and she loved him. This would be a blessing.

She climbed up the stairs and went to unlock the door, but found that it was already open. That's when the terrified feeling in her gut took over again.

She stepped through the frame and called out for him, but there was no answer. Closing the door behind her, she walked carefully through the house, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors as she navigated past the living room furniture and towards the kitchen. It wasn't like him to keep the door unlocked when he got home, not matter how close it was to her arrival. He always locked it right when he shut it. Something was wrong.

And when she rounded the corner, she realized there was. Something had gone terribly wrong.

He laid slumped against the floor, his jaw slack and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. The floor was a mess from things overturned, thrown from their places on the wall, table, and counter. There was a band tied tightly around his bicep and an empty needle protruding right under the crook of his elbow. Her eyes darted up to the stove, where a broken light bulb sat in the middle one of the stove top burners.

She knew what he had done.

Rushing over, she fell to her knees and pulled the needle out, screaming his name as she began slap his face to help him regain consciousness. She fumbled for the phone in her coat pocket and dialed 911 as fast as she could, bawling to the operator as she told them what had happened. She searched for a pulse, tried to feel for breathing, but sobbed harder when she could feel neither.

When the paramedics arrived, they pronounced him dead at the scene.

When she arrived at the hospital to get the final cause of death, she didn't listen. She already knew.

When she was requested to go to the morgue to see the body, she nodded numbly in reply. That was all she could do. It was all she was. She was numb, unfeeling. It was as if when he left, he brought her soul with him. Like all the happiness in the world had been touched with a finger of ice and dropped into an abyss of darkness.

It wasn't fair.

Not to her. Not to the baby inside her.

People would begin to tell her things would be okay. But they were wrong. It would never be okay. Never again.

As she walked through the white halls, lit by unflattering fluorescent lights, and was escorted into a cold room, she didn't feel the chill. She was already cold. Cold inside from the lack of warmth he could no longer bring her.

He did this. It was his fault.

As she stepped next to the body and looked down at the shroud-covered face, still she could feel nothing. None of the agony, none of the pain. Just the numbness that had taken over the second he was taken out of her arms that fateful day.

"Miss Katara?"

She looked up to the doctor, whose grey eyes bore into her with sympathy, gestured to the body of her husband and gingerly removed the sheet from his face. She sucked in a breath and unconsciously clutched her stomach as her eyes rested on him.

His face was pale, paler than usual. His eyes shut, but she could still see the hint of furrowing that he always had, the furrowing that had brought an onset of premature wrinkles in his forehead. His mouth was in a tight line, the color of his lips blending lifelessly into the rest of his skin.

She couldn't take it anymore. The tears began falling even harder, sobs escaping her once silent lips. Seeing him broke the dam.

"I'll leave you alone for a moment," she heard the doctor murmur as she stepped out of the room and into the hall.

Katara lifted her gloved hand and pressed it against his cold cheek. It had used to be so warm, like a fire. Now it was gone. His flame was snuffed out.

"I am so sorry," she cried softly. "I wish I could have helped you. Why didn't you tell me that there was something wrong? Why didn't you let me know that this was happening again?"

She sobs shook her chest as she rubbed her thumb against his face, too stiff to be real but she knew it was him. There was no mistaking.

"I love you so much," she murmured after wiping more of the tears away. Her eyes hardened as her free hand went to her stomach and clenched the fabric covering it, her heart in her throat as she added more firmly, "And I will see you soon. Goodbye, Zuko."

...

_**A/N **this is not okay. Like seriously, I hate this. So much. I don't want people flaming this because it's practically a drabble, a really sucky one, but I don't care. I had to get this out of my head before I screamed. Fuck you, Glee. Fuck you, heroin. _

_The end._

_P.S. "Not Even Once" is an organization that is trying to battle heroin addiction and use in the Greater Saint Louis area. It was brought to my attention when an old friend died of a heroin overdose last August. So I think the organization name was good for this title. Go check it out if you'd like._


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